mehimStill the years slipped past, and all of them were grown aged: Montresor, still smiling, albeit toothlessly now; my Lady Fortunato, too old at last for the cosmetics of vanity, yet not unlike to see her hundredth birthday; and that fool Luchresi, who, preserved as in a sweet pickle of wine, bid fair to see them all buried before him.
Having once taught myself the trick, I still from time to time frequented the dreams of friends, no longer to reveal secrets for my enemy to take delight in twisting, but simply for the innocent purpose of enjoying such conversation and simulacra of true physical luxuries as the dreams of the living may provide. As my surviving friends grew fewer, more and more I visited Luchresi. When asleep, he dreamed more excellent vintages than he could taste when a
